


Glowing Like the Metal on the Edge of a Knife (originally posted 03/07/12)

by ahopper84



Category: Hanson (Band)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Knifeplay, M/M, Male Slash, Masturbation, Sibling Incest, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 05:38:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8389327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahopper84/pseuds/ahopper84
Summary: I hadn't even known I'd wanted this, let alone needed it.





	

I sit on the floor of my hotel room. Shirtless, hair dripping from my shower. Denim rubbing roughly against my lower half. Everything is quiet, too quiet. I twirl the knife in my hand, a souvenier from the last truck stop. It's small, but sharp. I spin the point against my index finger, and it leaves a mark, but doesn't break skin. Not yet. I let out a sigh, my head falling back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling.

I lift the blade slowly, lean it against my shoulder. The metal is cool, and I shiver, my eyes falling closed. The blade is flat against my skin, and I let it fall slowly. Lifting it again, placing it on my collarbone. Again, to my neck. My eyes open as the edge brushes against the muscle. Something like a whisper, a vague notion. My breathing speeds up a fraction.

I lift the blade once more, resting the point of it on my neck, sharp side away. I drag it against my skin, pressing ever so slightly. It's at once freezing and searing, and my eyes fall closed again as a shudder breaks over me. I drag the blade over my neck, down the front of my chest, leting out a broken sigh.

I look down, watching, almost detached, as I lay the knife against my wrist, sharp side away. I don't want to cut, I just want to feel. The point is raked up my arm, just enough to make me wince, and I bite my lip. This is new, something I never expected to try, let alone to want. But my pulse thrums in my ears as I continue to pull the icy blade against my skin.

I stare for a minute at the scratches on my skin, tiny red trails that will be gone in an hour. My hands are shaking slightly as I stand, unzipping my jeans and letting them fall. I step out of them, laying on the bed, knife still in my hand. I don't know what I'm doing, but I've stumbled onto something that has my head dizzy.

I lay back, wrapping a hand around my length and pulling slowly. I sigh in relief, leaning my head back. This is normal. But a moment later, the knife's point is against my skin again, my chest, my stomach. I drag it over my thigh, and I gasp. I do the same to my neck, and my hips buck. My hand moves faster, grips harder. I push the blade deeper. I cover myself in thin red lines, ones I know I'll be able to feel even after they've faded. My forehead breaks out in sweat. My hair falls in my eyes. I moan and whine and gasp, one hand pulling, the other, pushing. I'm close, so much sooner than I'd expected.

I hear a door close and I jump, bolting upright. Both of us staring, wide-eyed and, for my part, terrified. Silence fills the space between us. I want to hide, to cover myself, to disappear, but I'm frozen. But it wouldn't matter. He can't unsee, and I can't erase this scene from either of our memories. Blue eyes narrow, features soften, his head tilts. He takes a step closer, and I flinch. His eyes show no judgement, only curiosity. I feel my cheeks burn as he steps closer, sits on the bed, brushes the hair from my eyes.

He says nothing. Nudges my shoulder; I lay back, too afraid to do anything but comply. My eyes dart to his hand, as he takes the knife from mine. Then to his other hand, barely brushing my still aching length. I moan despite myself, eyes rolling, back arching as he begins to slowly move. My eyes shoot open again as I feel the blade against my arm, panic rising, mouth dry. But he smiles reassuringly, and I nod. I trust him. I don't know why; we've never done anything even remotely like this. Never even kissed. But I trust him.

He holds my eyes as he trails the point of the knife up my arm, and it feels so much better. My skin is on fire, the blade like a shard of ice over my chest. I lean my head to the side, arching my neck, silently begging. He smiles, placing the blade where I need it. His smile falls as he bites his lip, pulling me harder, digging the knife in just a bit more.

I want to close my eyes, to surrender to the heat washing over me, but I force myself to stay with him. I need to know this is real. I think he does, too, the way his eyes burn into mine. Everything becomes a blur, his hand on me, the knife on my skin. I grab the sheet below me with white-knuckled fists, my hips bucking against my will. He gives a tiny nod, and I'm not sure if he's giving acceptance, or permission. I'm not sure which I want it to be.

A scream tears its way out of me as the white-hot fire reaches its peak. All I can see is blue. He bites his lip hard, almost looking like he's reaching the same release. My breathing slows, the world comes back into focus. He disappears for a moment, and I whimper. But I hear water running, and a minute later he's there with a damp washcloth, cleaning me with so much care it makes me weak all over again.

I feel a stinging behind my eyes, try to fight it but fail. Our eyes meet again, he reaches up and brushes the tear away with his thumb. His hand stays on my face, comfortably warm. I reach out and mimic the gesture, and he smiles. He leans down slowly, and before I can tell myself no, I lean up to meet him. Our lips just barely brush, just a whisper, a question. He looks at me, I look at him. We press our lips together again, less hesitant, more sure, our eyes never closing.

I trust him, he trusts me. I don't know what's just happened. I don't know if it will ever happen again. But I don't care. This is real, this is happening. He pulls away, kisses me again, pulls away for real. He runs his fingers through my hair, and I smile. His eyes travel down, his fingers tracing the lines I'm sure cover my body. He smiles, almost proud of them. I know I am. I cover his hand with mine, he looks up again.

I don't know what any of this means. I don't think he does, either. He lays down next to me, curled into my side, and sighs. I wrap my arms around him, burying my face in his hair. I rub his back soothingly, he rubs mine. I hadn't even known I'd wanted this, let alone needed it. But now I know. The lines will fade, the evidence disappearing. But I'll know, and he'll know. And that thought makes me smile.


End file.
